And did thy sapphire shallop slip Its moorings suddenly, to dip Adown the clear, ethereal sea From star to star, all silently? What tenderness of archangels In silver, thrilling syllables Pursued thee, or what dulcet hymn Low-chanted by the cherubim? And thou departing must have heard The holy Mary's farewell word, Who with deep eyes and wistful smile Remembered Earth a little while. Now from the coasts of morning pale Comes safe to port thy tiny sail. Now have we seen by early sun, Thy miracle of life begun. All breathing and aware thou art, With beauty templed in thy heart To let thee recognize the thrill Of wings along far azure hill, And hear within the hollow sky Thy friends the angels rushing by. These shall recall that thou hast known Their distant country as thine own, To spare thee word of vales and streams, And publish heaven through thy dreams. The human accents of the breeze Through swaying star-acquainted trees Shall seem a voice heard earlier, Her voice, the adoring sigh of her, When thou amid rosy cherub-play Didst hear her call thee, far away, And dream in very Paradise The worship of thy mother's eyes. Grace Hazard Conkling [1878-
